


Send My Condolences to Good

by LuckyLadybug



Category: Maverick - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Gamblers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Revenge, Stabbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-07 06:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3165008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyLadybug/pseuds/LuckyLadybug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Bart critically wounded and three new enemies on their trail, Beau takes refuge with his cousin in an old stable during a rainstorm. He wasn't expecting to be plunged right into a local crime boss's territory, nor for said crime boss to show them some apparent mercy. But is the man genuine, or have the Maverick boys left the frying pan for the fire?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The characters aren’t mine and the story is! I continue to want to explore Beau and Bart’s relationship, as one thing I find puzzling in the series is that, to me, it isn’t always easy to tell that they care about each other, whereas with Bret and Bart, that’s always plain. The character they meet up with isn’t mine either, albeit I delight in fleshing out his personality since he only appeared in one episode of The Wild Wild West (The Night of the Poisonous Posey). Perhaps it’s fitting for them to encounter him, as both Western series are unconventional as far as traditional Westerns go.

The rain pounded on the small stable as inside, a young man knelt in a hay-covered corner and half-cradled another young man close to him. Blood was everywhere, seeping through his torn clothes and dripping into the hay.

“Well, that won’t be any good for the horses tomorrow,” the first man said in a pronounced British accent. His blue eyes were filled with worry, illuminated every time the lightning flashed outside the dirty window above them.

The wounded man groaned, turning his head to the side. “Where are we?” he mumbled. His left hand went to his side, soon finding the crimson-soaked cloth covering the skin made jagged by a sore loser’s knife.

“I don’t know exactly,” was the reply. “A stable somewhere near the waterfront.”

“The riverboat’s . . . already left?”

“In this storm, I doubt it.”

“You could’ve kept going, then.”

“Not likely. In your condition, Cousin Bart, you were almost ready to take a tumble off the horse.” The healthy man carefully tried to lay his relation down in the hay. The stab wound needed more of his attention.

Bart cringed as his position was altered. He gripped more tightly at the injury, ignoring the blood oozing from under the makeshift bandage and onto his hand. “Is there a doctor around?”

“I’m going to go out and look in a moment. The first order of business was to get you someplace dry. Although this certainly wouldn’t have been my choice of surroundings.” A horse whinnied somewhere in the darkness as if to emphasize the point.

“With our luck, the roof will probably start leaking,” Bart said.

“Well, don’t make things worse by imagining up more trouble for us!” was the lightly scolding reply. “We have more than enough as it is.”

Bart coughed, tasting blood on his lips. “I think we’re about to have more anyway. Beau . . .” He sank back into the hay, weakly closing his eyes. “If I don’t make it, you and Bret can divide up my emergency stash.”

“Stop talking nonsense!” Beau shot back. His hands trembled slightly as he worked with the cloth. It was clearly useless now. Beau added his own handkerchief on top of it.

“The way I’m feeling right now, it doesn’t sound like nonsense,” Bart moaned.

“It is,” Beau insisted. “Now, just settle down and go back to sleep. I’ll go find the nearest doctor.”

Bart gave a tired sigh. “Sometimes I really wonder why Pappy thought gambling would be such a safe thing to do.” His eyes fluttered and closed.

When he suddenly went limp, Beau went stiff. Bart hadn’t been tired enough to fall asleep so quickly. Either he had passed out, or . . .

Beau shook the horrible thought from his mind as he bent down, trying to feel his cousin’s breath on his face. Finding it, he leaned back with a silent prayer of relief. He still had time to save Bart’s life.

An involuntary shudder traveled up his spine as he stood and reached for the blankets they had brought with them on their trip. The agonizing worry he felt for Bart now was not something he would wish on anyone. It hadn’t been that many months when he had been shot in the back protecting Bart. He hated to think of how Bart must have felt when he had discovered Beau lying nearly dead on the floor. At least some of those feelings were likely similar to what Beau had felt hours earlier when he had run to Bart’s side after shooting his attacker and discovered Bart’s blood everywhere.

Unlike Beau in the earlier incident, Bart had managed to stay conscious for a while after taking the blow. But with the doctor out of town and the stabber’s friends hot on their trail, they had been forced to leave town in spite of Bart’s dire condition. He had faded in and out of consciousness on the desperate ride through the wilderness, and once the rain had started, Beau had known they would have to stop somewhere.

He clenched his teeth as he stood after adjusting the blankets. Leaving Bart alone was not something he wanted to do. What if their latest batch of enemies caught up with them? True, it was probably mainly Beau they wanted, but they might decide to use Bart against him.

He could try to cover Bart with hay, he supposed, while leaving a space for him to breathe. Maybe if they were lucky, Bart would stay unconscious and not make any sounds to alert anyone while Beau was gone. Or if he did, maybe the horses would whinny and cover up any other sounds.

He was just starting to undo a fresh bale of hay when a sound in the doorway made him look up with a start. A match had been lit and was being brought to the tip of a cigar. A silhouetted figure stood in the doorway, seemingly unconcerned as he studied the scene.

Beau gripped the knife he had been using to slice open the hay. “Who’s there?” he demanded. “I’m armed.”

“You’re trespassing, Pal,” a gravelly Southern voice spoke out of the near-darkness. He shook the match and flicked it outside before strolling into the stable—the picture of calm, cool, and collected.

“It couldn’t be helped.” Beau pulled out his gun with his other hand before lowering the blade. “My cousin is very badly hurt. He needs medical help now! I was just going for a doctor.”

The Southerner—Virginian, from the sound of it—was still unconcerned. Taking a lantern off a hook, he lit it with another match and brought it down to examine the scene. “What happened to him?” he asked, giving no indication of what he thought to see Bart lying in the bloodstained hay.

“He was playing poker and won. Someone didn’t like that.” Bitterness slipped into Beau’s voice with that statement. It had been almost a mirror of the situation that had resulted in Beau being shot months earlier. The bullet would have drilled into an unsuspecting Bart if Beau hadn’t been there to tackle him to the floor. This time, Bart had seen the weapon but had been unable to prevent his enemy from using it.

The Virginian nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, we get a lot of that around here.” He bent down, pulling back the blankets to examine the wound.

“Well, is there a doctor around?!” Beau exclaimed with impatience. “Don’t you understand? If he doesn’t get the proper help, he’ll die!”

“That’s not much to me.” The Virginian straightened, replacing the blankets. “Except I hope you’re gonna reimburse me for the hay he’s damaged.”

“I’ll pay you whatever you want, after Bart is treated by a doctor,” Beau snarled. “My God, man, don’t you have any heart?!” It wasn’t something he said often, especially considering the types of people he regularly encountered, but he was furious. This was not what either he or Bart needed right now!

“See, I’m a businessman,” was the smooth reply. “This here stable services some of the people who work for me. I control most of this town. The doctor, too. I can have him out here in a jiffy, if I want to.”

“Then I suggest you decide to want to.” Beau poked his gun into the stranger’s ribcage. “I’ve toppled towns controlled by one man before. You see, I don’t like them very much. Especially when they’re not in my or my family’s favor.”

“Don’t threaten me.” The Virginian’s voice hardened. “It might interest you to know that I just had a visit from three angry poker players, willing to pay me cold, hard cash if I’d turn you over to them. They’re not interested in your cousin, just you, since you shot their leader.”

Beau gripped the gun all the stronger. “How much did they offer you?”

“Five hundred a piece. Fifteen hundred dollars just to get at you, Mr. Maverick.”

“I’ll offer you two thousand right now to take us both in and keep us safe from them until my cousin is well!” Beau said in desperation. Bart probably wouldn’t be happy about Beau giving over his emergency stash to this character, but once they were safely out of here, Beau would win at poker and pay him back. And maybe the fact that Beau would be giving up his emergency money too would soften the blow.

The Virginian’s eyes glittered. “You have that kind of money on you?”

“We both do,” Beau said. “Here, look.” He pulled back his coat, revealing the thousand-dollar bill pinned inside. “My cousin has one as well.”

The mercenary puffed on his cigar. “You know,” he said, “I could easily plug both of you, take your money, and then turn your wounded body over to your enemies for them to finish off.”

“Yes, but will you?” Beau replied, praying he wasn’t going to regret challenging such a dark soul.

“That’s the predictable thing for someone like me to do.” But the Virginian sauntered away, unconcerned of the gun trained on him.

“I hope I’m not mistaken that I hear a ‘but’ in that sentence,” Beau said.

At the doorway the other man paused, holding his cigar between his fingers. “I hate to lose out on any money promised to me. What if I take your money and agree to tend to your cousin here, if you’ll surrender quietly and go out to take your medicine?”

Beau’s stomach rolled. “Is that the only way you’ll help him?”

“What if it is?”

“My life for his, then.” Beau drew a shuddering breath. “I already sacrificed myself for him once. It nearly broke him.”

The Virginian leaned against the doorframe. “Broke mind or broke body. Which’ll it be?”

Beau clenched a fist. “I could shoot you where you stand,” he said.

“Yeah, but you’d bring the whole town down on your head. You wouldn’t want that for your cousin either, would you?”

It was a rhetorical question. Of course Beau couldn’t put them in that kind of danger. But how could he go through with the proposal he’d just been given?

Well, maybe with a little Maverick luck, he could outsmart the three angry poker players.

At last he sighed in resignation. “If that’s the only way you’ll help Cousin Bart, then I have no choice but to agree.”

“What?!” To his astonishment, the Virginian was actually rattled, very nearly dropping his cigar in the stable. He tossed it outside in the rain and spun about to stare at Beau. “You actually mean that? You’d go to your death to save him?”

Beau held his ground. “I’d hope that I might still come out of it alive, but yes, I’d go realizing I might very well die. I’d have to pray that Bart would understand I had no other choice.”

The Virginian ambled over to him now, holding out his hand. “Give me your money,” he said. “Both thousands. I’ll take care of you.”

Beau stared at him, tense, suspicious. “Why? You just said you hate to lose any money promised to you.”

“There’s a reward out on those three,” was the reply. “I can turn ’em in and get that.” He studied Beau in the lantern light. “The fact is, it’s been ages since I’ve met anyone crazy enough to willingly give up his life for somebody else. I wondered if I’d ever see it again. It’s a breath of fresh air after a steady stream of sniveling cowards.” It almost sounded like he muttered, “Like me,” in an undertone.

Slowly Beau reached up and unpinned the thousand from his coat. “Bring the doctor and I’ll have the other thousand ready for you,” he said.

“I’ll bring the doctor and a carriage,” the Virginian said, accepting the thousand with ease. “You can hide out at the place where I stay when I’m in town. Your enemies won’t think to look for you there.”

“Thank you,” Beau said, still wary. “By the way, what do I call you?”

The Virginian turned slightly, revealing a ghastly disfigurement on his left cheek. “Snakes,” he said. “Snakes Tolliver.” Without waiting for a response, he headed for the door. “Keep down and keep quiet till I come back.”

“I can assure you I will,” Beau said, watching the scarred man until he was out in the rain and out of sight. Then, sighing, Beau leaned back against the wall and watched the still-unconscious Bart. He could see Bart was breathing, but not much more than that.

“Well, Cousin Bart, I wonder what sort of fine mess we’re getting into now,” he mused.

He had heard of Snakes Tolliver, the riverboat gambler and suspected crime boss, and had wondered if they might be near his territory. Snakes had a reputation for being cold, cruel, and selfish—and an explosives expert. For him to be willing to take in both Bart and Beau, Beau had to wonder what other schemes he was planning.

Perhaps, he decided instantly, once Bart was out of danger, he could work on a plan to get their two thousand dollars back.


	2. Chapter 2

As it turned out, Snakes was true to his word. It wasn’t more than fifteen minutes later that Beau heard the clop of horses’ hooves outside the stable. He got up, hurrying to the doorway to meet the dark-cloaked man climbing down from the carriage. “Are you the doctor?” he demanded, wanting to be sure.

“Yes.” The older man turned, no-nonsense as he gripped his medical bag in his hand. “Where’s your cousin, Son?”

“Over here.” Beau led him to the back of the stable, where Bart still lay unconscious. “He was coughing before he swooned. There might be internal bleeding.”

The doctor frowned deeply behind his white mustache and pointed beard. He quickly knelt next to Bart and pulled back the blankets, then carefully removed the soaked handkerchiefs to see the wound. “How long ago did this happen?”

“Several hours now.” Beau watched him nervously. “Can you do anything for him here?”

“Not much. It’s too dark with just one little lantern.” The doctor looked up at him. “It’s not far to Mr. Tolliver’s home. He requested you both be taken there. Help me get him into the carriage.”

Beau was very willing to comply. As he helped the doctor lift Bart’s limp body, the wounded man gave a weak moan.

“Bart?” Beau looked down at him, hoping for a return to consciousness.

He was partially rewarded; Bart moved one arm. “Full House, gentlemen,” he mumbled. “I win.”

“Let’s just hope you will, dear cousin,” Beau said under his breath.

It was a relief that the carriage had been parked right next to the door, for more reasons than one. The rain was still pelting harshly when they moved outside. But if Bart felt the insistent drops, he gave no indication of it. He was silent again, unconscious or close to it.

With the doctor’s help, Bart was gently laid on the cushioned seat in the back of the carriage. Beau sat on the floor near him and held onto him as the physician climbed into the box and snapped the reins for the horses to go.

The movement of the carriage shocked Bart into a semi-conscious state again. His eyes snapped open and he stared blankly upward at the roof of the vehicle. “What’s . . . what’s this?”

“We’re going for a little ride again,” Beau told him. “Then the doctor will see what’s wrong with you and mend it.”

“I know what’s wrong with me,” Bart retorted. “I had what felt like a six-inch blade cut me up like a pig for dinner.”

“Well, your sense of humor is returning,” Beau said, trying to keep his voice light. “You can’t be that bad off.”

He knew the truth, of course. But he hoped that if Bart didn’t believe he was dying, he wouldn’t become overly stressed and make recovery even more difficult.

There would be a recovery, of course. There had to be.

Beau had been desperately trying not to think along other, tragic lines. Part of him, however, knew he had to face the possibility. And this time, unlike when he had been shot and dying, he wasn’t sure Bret could even be contacted to come. Not until their current enemies were caught and out of the way, at least, and Beau wasn’t sure Snakes would make good on his idea to turn them in for the reward. Maybe Snakes had only said that to try to lure Beau into a false sense of security.

He looked over at Bart when the silence continued. Bart’s eyes were closed again. Had he already passed out?

He leaned back, watching nervously as the carriage continued to hasten towards their destination. With Bart likely unconscious, there wasn’t much Beau could do while they were moving. His thoughts began to wander.

He had been raised with Bret and Bart like a third brother, despite being a cousin. But Bret and Bart had always been so close that it wasn’t always easy for someone else to enter into the pictures. At least, that was how he had seen it as a child. And it hadn’t helped that his Uncle Beau wasn’t always sure what to make of him and his contrary behavior. Sometimes, Beau hadn’t been sure his uncle even wanted him associating with his cousins, for fear of him being a bad influence.

He was in some ways the most aloof of the three, but that could be at least partially why. That, and not wanting to intrude. It was often reflected in the way he and Bart interacted—or at least, how they had interacted before he had been shot. That had rather changed their dynamic a bit.

Prior to that, they were the least likely to display open affection and closeness for each other. Their interaction had been largely superficial and at arm’s length. They had been happy to see each other upon Beau’s return from England, but in general, when one was in danger, the other did not show the full measure of his distress, if he showed any at all. They did honestly care about each other and always had, but they had rarely been conventional in how they showed it.

Perhaps it was because Beau had been gone so long and they weren’t sure how to react to each other. Perhaps Beau’s standoffishness played into it as well, as he had thought.

Sometimes it was probably that each believed the other could get out of whatever mess he was currently in without too much difficulty. After all, they were in and out of trouble almost every day. And maybe sometimes they didn’t know or understand just how serious a current problem was, at least not at first. They didn’t want to jump and run at every issue, only for many of those to be solved by the time they could get there.

Some people had the mistaken idea that they were not close at all, and that they would abandon each other for money or women if the opportunity came along. Well, sometimes there had been a bit of that—they were Mavericks, after all, and had been brought up to go after money whenever an easy and honest and safe way to get it came along. And they all appreciated the fairer sex—probably too much, judging by how often femme fatales had tricked them into losing funds and sometimes almost their lives. But if it came to one of them in danger, the other would never leave him to suffer. That was what separated them from so many others who were filled with a strong desire for money.

It was strange, really, that after years of being in disastrous situations, none of them had ever been seriously hurt until Beau had been shot. And now Bart had been stabbed and was bleeding to death.

_This had better not be a precedent for the future. That’s all I can say,_ Beau thought bitterly.

He wondered if he had been surprised by how deeply Bart had taken the shooting to heart. Naturally he would be upset for anyone to take a bullet for him, but for it to be his cousin was so much worse. Still, when they typically weren’t so open, and not as close as Bart was to Bret, maybe Bart’s reaction had surprised Beau a bit.

He was still closer to Bart than he was to Bret, however. And he wondered if Bart even had any idea at all of how Beau had not wanted to be in the way of Bart and Bret as a boy. He doubted it; Bart probably believed that Beau was aloof solely because he wanted to be. Well, maybe that was truer now, but after years of it, it was hard to break the habit.

Bret had decided, following Beau’s physical recovery, that the three of them needed to be more open with each other and talk more. None of them had recovered emotionally or mentally from the incident at that time, but sharing those discussions had certainly helped. Since then, they had tried in general to be more open with each other. Nevertheless, they all still kept some secrets; Beau’s was his feelings as a child. He saw no reason to talk about that as an adult, especially when it would likely only hurt Bret and Bart.

He sighed, looking back to Bart’s still form. He was breathing; Beau could still see the rise and fall of his chest. But Beau could also see that he was in pain.

“Is it much farther?” he yelled to the doctor.

“We’re here now,” was the answer.

Beau looked out in fascination at the sound of heavy iron gates opening. A house that may have once been part of a Southern plantation stretched before them, and Beau had to admit approval. He could never agree with the life Snakes had chosen, but he certainly lived well.

The carriage drove around to the side of the house and then stopped under an overhanging part of the roof supported by white pillars. Beyond it was a side door into the house.

It opened as the doctor was getting out of the box. “Bring him in here,” Snakes directed.

“Well, you certainly are hospitable, when you feel like it,” Beau commented. He carefully lifted Bart off the carriage seat and down into the doctor’s and Snakes’ arms. Deeply unconscious now, Bart didn’t so much as jerk in pain. The worry rose higher in Beau’s heart.

He followed them into the expensively furnished home and to a room on the ground floor. He was relieved it wasn’t upstairs; he didn’t like the thought of moving Bart that much.

Again the doctor began to pull back the blankets to examine the wound, this time under the bright lights of a small chandelier. “I’ll need you to go out while I do this,” he said to Beau. “You might grow upset and be a distraction. You understand.”

“I wouldn’t be a distraction,” Beau said in annoyance.

“Just come on into the hall,” Snakes directed. “He’s completely out of it. There’s nothing you can do for him right now.”

Sighing, and admitting to that unfortunate truth, Beau complied with the physician’s wishes and followed Snakes out of the room. Snakes leaned against the opposite wall, unconcerned.

Beau folded his arms, taking the time to study his unusual benefactor. Snakes was younger than Beau had imagined. Under the equally bright lights in the hall, he couldn’t have been more than his late twenties.

“You know, you’re awfully young to be controlling a town,” Beau commented. “Unless you inherited it from your family.”

“I ain’t got no family, Pal. It’s just me. Always has been.” There was a definite touch of bitterness to Snakes’ tone.

“I’m sorry,” Beau said, and he meant it. He couldn’t quite imagine an entire lifetime without a family. His Uncle Beau had always advocated family togetherness. Maybe that was why he had allowed Beau to associate with his cousins in spite of any concerns over his behavior.

Snakes chuckled to himself and sneered. “You’ve got a big family, haven’t you?”

“What do you mean by that?” Beau kept his voice guarded.

“I’ve met your cousin. The other one, not the one in there.”

“Bret?” Beau blinked. “He’s never mentioned meeting you.”

“There’s probably a lot of things he doesn’t mention. You don’t tell him all about your travels, do you?”

“No,” Beau admitted. “I suppose I’m just surprised that you’re controlling a town at all if you’ve met Cousin Bret. He doesn’t take kindly to that sort of thing any more than I do.”

“I lost more than one town because of him,” Snakes replied darkly. “He just never happened to run across me while I was at this one.”

A shiver went up Beau’s spine. “You sound very bitter towards him.”

“You can understand why. I don’t like being shown up by anyone, let alone a happy-go-lucky sort like him. We’ve got a mutual dislike for each other.”

“And you can surely understand why I’m suddenly more leery than ever of being in your home and at your mercy,” Beau shot back.

“You think I brought you here to get revenge on Bret?” Snakes scoffed.

“I think that’s highly possible,” Beau said. “Or maybe to see if you could outsmart another Maverick, since you obviously had no luck outsmarting Cousin Bret.”

That brought a laugh. “Heh, maybe so. But it would be pretty nasty of me to take advantage of you when you’d be too upset about your cousin to be at your sharpest.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard about you, that’s the least you might do!” Beau retorted.

Snakes just shrugged. “If you believe everything you hear, you’re in trouble.”

Beau gave him a long, searching look. “Why did you decide to help us? You won’t have me believe it was solely because I showed some level of unselfish concern for another human being. Someone whose business is organized crime surely can’t put much value on unselfish behavior.”

“Those Italian crime families sure put value on loyalty,” Snakes said. “Me, I figure it’s a dog-eat-dog world out there. Everybody’s backstabbing everybody else to get ahead. Family, friends . . . nobody means anything to anyone if they’ve got dollar signs for eyes.

“Maybe you were putting me on about being willing to go face those three gorillas in exchange for your cousin’s well-being, but I don’t think you were. I think you really care about the guy. I think you care so much that you really would give up your life for his if you had to. And that fascinates me. Maybe I wanted to keep you close and study you for a while.”

Beau pushed away from the wall, suddenly angry. “I’m not something to scrutinize under a microscope! Neither is the love between family members. If you can’t understand it as it is, you won’t be able to just by watching someone who does.” It occurred to him that he sounded more like Bart with his rant, but at the moment he didn’t care.

Snakes was unfazed. “Study was a bad choice of a word,” he said. “I guess what I really mean is, I didn’t figure on someone crazy enough to sacrifice himself being an intelligent sort of man. And you seem like you’ve got brains. I’d like to talk with you.”

“Well, I doubt I’ll be very good company,” Beau shot back. “And I don’t know that I want to talk with you.”

“You’re not going to have much else to do,” Snakes pointed out.

The door opened then and Beau spun around, hope and dread rising in equal parts in his heart. “Well?” he demanded impatiently.

The doctor sighed, rubbing his forehead. “There is some indication of internal bleeding,” he said. “I won’t know for sure unless I operate. And if I’m going to do that, it has to be immediately.”

Beau drew a shaking breath. “You have my permission, if you were looking for it. But Doctor . . .” He looked pleadingly at the older man. “How much of a chance has he got?”

The physician hesitated long enough that Beau really knew the answer without anything being said. “If I or another doctor could have seen him as soon as this happened, he would have a much stronger chance,” he finally spoke.

Beau clenched a fist. “The doctor for the town we were in wasn’t there. We traveled for miles through the wilderness. This was the next closest town!”

“I know. I’m not blaming you, Mr. Maverick,” the doctor quickly said. “I’m just giving you the facts, such as they are. Your cousin is young and strong, and stubborn to have held on this long at all. That will all count in his favor. But cases like this aren’t encouraging.” He paused. “Do you want to see him before I begin?”

Beau ran a hand through his hair. “Is he conscious at all?”

“Not really,” the doctor told him. “He won’t understand what you’re saying.”

Beau wasn’t entirely sure what he would say, either. “Nevermind it,” he said. “Just get on with it. Give him every possible chance.”

The physician nodded. “I’ll need something to sterilize my tools.”

“There’s a bottle of whiskey in the drawer,” Snakes offered. “It’d be quicker than waiting for water to boil.”

“Thank you, Mr. Tolliver,” the doctor said. He went back in the room. “I’ll let you know when I’m finished.” He shut the door and Beau jumped. The sound was surely not as loud and as final as it seemed to him to be, but it was chilling all the same.

Snakes reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a deck. “You could be waiting a long time. How about playing some poker?”

Beau was still suspicious. “Is that a marked deck?”

“You can look for yourself. It’s not.” Snakes held it out.

Beau glanced at it and shook his head. “You’re too clever for such an obvious trick. I certainly don’t believe that deck is honest, but your scheme has to be something else.” His eyes glittered. “I’ll play.”

“Good,” Snakes said. “And maybe we can have some conversation at the same time.”

“Maybe,” Beau said.

It was true, there wasn’t much else to do but think and worry. And maybe if he learned Snakes’ weaknesses, he could figure out how to get the two thousand dollars back.

That certainly sounded appealing.


	3. Chapter 3

Snakes had appointed himself the dealer. As he passed out the cards to Beau while they sat in his drawing room, he said, “So what’s it like, coming from a big family?”

“The Mavericks are a very close-knit bunch,” Beau said, still guarded.

“Yeah, but do they really welcome someone who isn’t like the rest of them?” Snakes dealt himself in and set the rest of the deck aside.

Beau stiffened. “What are you trying to insinuate?”

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Snakes said. “After I got beat down by your cousin the first time, I looked up everything I could about the family. You’re the one who got sent to England for five years because he dared to come back from the war a hero, right?”

This was definitely not a conversation Beau wanted to have with someone like Snakes Tolliver! “I was in England,” he said. “That must be obvious from my voice. But I could have been there for any number of reasons. For schooling, perhaps.”

“Yeah, schooling on how you’re not to go against the patriarch of the family.” Snakes studied his hand. “Your uncle runs things with a real iron fist, don’t he?”

“That’s not true,” Beau defended. “He just does what he feels is best for each family member’s continuing safety.” Even so, he felt a certain knotting in his stomach. Snakes had hit a nerve, something that Beau had thought himself in his darkest moments, especially after he had been shot and his uncle had verbally raked him over the coals for it.

“Whatever you say,” Snakes shrugged.

The first few hands were silent, the only speech that of poker talk. It wasn’t until the sixth hand that Snakes tried again. “I’m surprised your uncle didn’t disown all of you boys for going to war.”

“Bret and Bart had no choice in the matter,” Beau said stiffly. “They were drafted.”

“But you weren’t.” Snakes drew another card from the deck. “It was the same with me; I enlisted. Lied about my age to get in, even.”

“You must have been very gallant about the cause,” Beau said.

“Not really,” Snakes said, and Beau found he wasn’t that surprised. “All I really wanted was a change of scenery. I grew up in an orphanage and hated it. Everybody felt the same about me, too.”

“What were you, the terror and the con artist of the place?” Beau asked.

“Nah, I was the kicked puppy,” Snakes drawled. “It might sound unbelievable now, but I used to be a pretty nice kid growing up. Maybe I did a little petty theft, but only to get some decent food or a little money to get some decent food. Maybe a decent toy now and then. But I was still pretty willing to share or help people in trouble . . . even though things rarely went right for me when I did. It was only during the war that I finally realized that people didn’t really care about anyone but themselves and that they got the greatest pleasure from tearing other people down. I was sick of being the one they tore down.”

“So you decided the thing to do was to become like the ones doing the tearing down,” Beau finished.

“Basically, yeah.” Snakes grinned. “Being meek and submissive sure never got me anything like this.” He gestured at the well-furnished room.

“And do you like tearing people down?” Beau couldn’t refrain from asking.

Snakes’ eyes flickered and he looked down at his hand. “If they deserve it, yeah.” He looked up again. “Don’t tell me you don’t like dealing out your brand of justice on the people you think deserve it.”

Beau frowned, uncomfortable. “I only go after con artists or other criminals, especially if they’ve already done something to me or my family.”

“Same principle, really. Okay, we have different methods, but you’re not going to get me to believe we’re not ultimately after the same thing. Neither of us is the law, but we feel like coming down on people we don’t like.”

Beau didn’t like being compared to a crime boss at all. “I do it because I don’t like thinking of all the innocent people who will be hurt if they’re allowed to operate,” he said. “You do it out of malice or vengeance.”

“You don’t know why I do what I do.” Snakes suddenly sounded cold. His next words were lighter again. “But if you’re all about helping the innocent, that really goes against what your uncle taught you, doesn’t it? He’s all about looking after number one?”

“No,” Beau protested. “Well . . . maybe he says things like that, but all of the Mavericks believe in helping the innocent, even Uncle Beau.”

“He doesn’t practice what he preaches, in other words. Well, a lot of people are like that. Probably most.” Snakes won the next hand and smirked.

“I’ll deal this time,” Beau said, collecting the cards and grabbing the deck.

“Go ahead,” Snakes said calmly. He leaned back. “One thing I have to wonder is, if your uncle is for helping people, why did he blow his stack over you enlisting in the war? Surely he knows that gambling and fighting crooks are some of the most dangerous things around.”

Beau practically flung the cards at Snakes’ side of the table. He honestly didn’t know the answer to that. It was something that had been bothering him for some time, even moreso after he had been shot. Bart himself had raised the question back in the barn. It chilled Beau to remember that. If the surgery didn’t go well, it might be one of the last things Bart would ever say.

“And to punish you for doing something that got you branded a hero? Wow, that is some pretty backwards thinking.”

That snapped Beau’s patience. “And you think your logic isn’t backwards?” he exclaimed. “Abandoning all decency and behaving like an animal operating by the law of the jungle?”

Snakes was unconcerned. “Maybe it is backwards. But that doesn’t mean his isn’t. And I don’t think you’d be getting so upset if you didn’t feel the same, deep down.” He leaned forward, picking up the cards Beau had dealt him. “You’re the white sheep of the Maverick family. You don’t really belong there, just like I never belonged where I tried to fit in. And you know you’re out of place, don’t you?”

Beau gripped the cards in his hands. “Are we going to play poker or discuss my life history and psychological makeup? You are a demented, twisted person! We have nothing in common except that we fought for the South, and even our reasons for that were different!”

“And I suppose you were gallant about the cause,” Snakes drawled, throwing Beau’s earlier words back at him.

Beau decided to ignore him. Instead he laid out his poker hand.

“You beat me this time,” Snakes said.

“I’m tempted to call it quits here,” Beau said, “especially if we’re not playing for money.”

“Well, if you want to, we could play for your two thousand bucks,” Snakes said. “I know you must want that back pretty bad.”

Beau’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “And you would really put that up as the stakes?”

“Not necessarily,” Snakes said. “Do you even have anything of your own to put up?”

“. . . No,” Beau admitted. He _could_ put up the money Bart had won tonight, in the hopes of keeping hold of it and winning back the two thousand. In other circumstances, he probably would have. But with Bart so bad off that he was undergoing surgery and might not even survive, it didn’t seem right.

“Then we either keep playing just for the heck of it, like we’ve been doing, or we stop.”

Beau watched him, still suspicious. “Are you going to keep trying to pry into my mind?”

“I think I’ve got my point across. You can do what you want now.”

“Alright then,” Beau said. “We’ll play. Not talk.”

“Not unless you want to, Pal.”

“I’m not your ‘pal’,” Beau growled.

The game proceeded, quietly, as Snakes had promised. But with only the occasional bong of the large clock for commentary, Beau couldn’t help how his thoughts began to wander.

What was happening with Bart? Had the doctor found the problem? What if he needed help?

Surely he would call if he did. But between an honest gambler and a crime boss, he would have rather slim pickings.

What if the doctor would think the surgery was going alright and then there would be a new problem afterwards? What if Bart would still die, even if his condition seemed to improve for a while?

Maybe no matter what the doctor did, it wouldn’t matter now. Maybe Bart had already lost too much blood. Beau had tried his best to help Bart before the physician was brought in, but it might not have been good enough.

Would Beau blame himself if Bart died?

. . . Would _Uncle Beau_ blame him?

Maybe Uncle Beau would never say anything outright, but if there was a change in his attitude, Beau would probably suspect blame. And if that happened, Beau really wouldn’t feel that he belonged. He wouldn’t want to leave if he could offer any comfort to Bret by staying, but he wouldn’t feel comfortable around Uncle Beau any longer.

And it would be so horrible without Bart. Beau could scarcely conceive of the thought of Bart not being there; he had always been part of the picture before. Even when Beau had been in England, they had kept up a steady correspondence.

No, Beau could not think that Bart would die. It had to still be possible to save him! The doctor would save him.

None of the Mavericks were particularly religious, but Beau said another prayer in his mind for Bart anyway. He needed all the help he could get.

Snakes said that Beau already knew he didn’t belong in the Maverick family. That was probably the sorest spot he could have hit; Beau did feel insecure about his position and about letting the family down. He was, oddly enough, probably more interested in traveling than Bret and Bart were. But he also just couldn’t quell the more daring part of his nature that made him do things that Uncle Beau hated, like enlist in the Confederate army.

He had never said so aloud, but he knew he had joined up for adventure more than anything else. Oh, not that he hadn’t wanted to fight for the Southern states’ rights, but he hadn’t entirely agreed with everything they had wanted out of the war. Bret and Bart, still more oddly, had perhaps agreed more, yet had not wanted to enlist. But they had ended up fighting anyway.

“Tell me,” he spoke after an indeterminable amount of time, “why did you tell me those things about yourself? In fact, how do I even know that what you told me was true? You could have decided you wanted to present yourself as a more sympathetic figure in my eyes, whether or not you actually deserve sympathy.”

“I don’t need sympathy or pity,” Snakes answered. “I guess if you really want to know if any of it is true, you could go back and talk to the people working the orphanage or look up some of the kids who used to beat me down.” He sneered. “I showed them what for, once I had power on my side. They know now they never should’ve messed with me.”

“I’m surprised they aren’t all dead,” Beau remarked.

Snakes just shrugged. “Depends on what I think would be the best medicine for them. As to why I talked about it at all, I haven’t revealed any of my deep, dark secrets. Make no mistake that I have those. But when it comes to how and why I came about my worldview, I’m okay with sharing that.” He studied Beau carefully. “One of the things I really wanted to ask you is this: You’ve seen the bad side of human nature more times than I bet you can count. And it’s nearly got you killed more times than either of us can count. Why do you keep on insisting on helping people? What’s the point?”

“I can sleep a lot easier at night,” Beau quickly replied.

“You’re lucky you’re not sleeping in a pine box,” Snakes said dryly.

“Looking out for your own interests is dangerous as well,” Beau pointed out. “That’s why gambling is such a potentially deadly profession.”

“At least you only have to worry about yourself and not a whole lot of other people too,” Snakes grunted. “Better to let one person down than everybody.”

“Even if that one person is yourself?” Beau frowned. “That’s a strange attitude for someone like you to take. I wouldn’t think you’d care if you let anyone other than yourself down.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t,” Snakes said. “I’m just saying. And here’s a question. You said the reason you help people is so you can sleep easier. Maybe you were just being sarcastic, or not telling the whole truth, but if you were . . .” He smirked. “Then your reason for helping is selfish. You’re not thinking about the other people; you’re thinking of you. And somehow I can’t think that helping people just to feel good about yourself is gonna get you into Heaven any more than doing nothing will.”

“You have an answer for everything, don’t you,” Beau grumbled. “In this case, I have to admit that you’re right. And no, that isn’t my only reason. I already told you, I don’t like to see innocent people suffer.”

“Well, hooray for you,” Snakes sneered. “Too bad you weren’t around when I was in the orphanage.”

“Yes,” Beau said, and found he sincerely meant it. “That _is_ too bad. Maybe you wouldn’t have grown up such a despicable person.”

Snakes looked unaffected. “I guess we’ll never know.”

They continued their game for a while, in silence again. But as the hours stretched on with no news, Beau found he had had enough. He leaned back, massaging the bridge of his nose. “How long has it been?” he wondered.

Snakes reached into his vest pocket for a gold watch and chain. “A long time.”

Beau pushed his chair back from the table and stood, going to the door to look out at the hall. Everything was quiet.

“The doctor would’ve come if there was any news,” Snakes said.

“I know.” Beau came back to the table. “The question is, is what’s going on in that room good or bad?”

“It won’t help to dwell on it.” Snakes was serious now.

Beau frowned. Was he just imagining, or was there actually a tinge of kindness in Snakes’ voice?

“. . . Was there absolutely no one for you?” he asked. “I mean, didn’t you have any friends growing up?”

Snakes stayed silent for a moment, finding the cards in his hand very interesting. “Every now and then, yeah, there was someone I kind of liked,” he admitted. “But they were always the ones who got adopted quick. Or died.”

Beau’s frown deepened. “If you were really such a nice person as a child, why didn’t anyone want you?”

Snakes shrugged. “Who knows. I heard different things. I was too quiet. I was too weak. I wouldn’t be able to help much on a plantation or a farm. I was too . . . outside the acceptable.”

“And how was that, if not a troublemaker?”

“I’ll give you an example. One time I made friends with this free colored boy who was passing through with his family. We were young and innocent and didn’t see anything wrong with it. But you can imagine how well that went over.” Snakes leaned back. “I never did see anything wrong with it. So I wasn’t really the type who fit into the proper Southern society.”

“I see,” Beau said in some surprise.

“Even now, I have a lot of colored people in my operation. They’re on full salary, not just doing work for peanuts. Some of them are in real positions of power.” Snakes smirked. “Maybe it’s just my way of rebelling against a society that never wanted me. Maybe I’m telling the outcasts of this country that there’s a place where they can be accepted and get a good job.” He set the cards down and laced his fingers. “In any case, here’s where we come to one of the other big things I wanted to get to. Why don’t you join us?”

Beau stared, for a moment not sure he had heard correctly. “You . . . you’re asking me to work for you?!” he exclaimed. “After everything I’ve told you about wanting to help people, not hurt them?”

“See, I think I am helping people, in my own way. I welcome everybody who’s willing to work for what has to be done—man, woman, black, white, yellow, red. . . . This country’s headed for a new age, and I’m gonna be one of the main ones to get it there.”

Beau slumped back. “Maybe so, and maybe on some level that’s noble, but you’re still getting people into crime. I don’t want any part of that!”

“Have it your way,” Snakes said. “Just remember I made you the offer. And it’s always open if you change your mind.”

Beau found himself reeling. This was not what he had expected at all. They should be natural enemies. Instead, Snakes was offering him a _job?_ He wasn’t even sure how to react to that.

“Mr. Maverick?”

He looked up with a start. The doctor had arrived in the doorway.

Instantly Beau was on his feet. “What is it, Doctor?” he asked. “How’s Bart?”

“Well, he’s still alive,” the older man sighed, wiping his hands on a towel he had brought with him. “I did what I could and stitched him up. I just don’t know if he still has enough blood in him to pull through.”

“He’s going to live,” Beau insisted vehemently. “May I see him now?”

“Stay with him for as long as you want,” the doctor nodded. “It’s up to him and God now.”

Beau hurried to the doorway. “Thank you, Doctor.” He rushed past, heading for the bedroom.

Snakes watched him go without protest. When the doctor turned, giving him a questioning look, Snakes ignored him and began to gather the stray cards back into the deck.


End file.
